Day 7 - All Is Calm
by pancakephelps
Summary: 25 Days of Richonne Challenge: Michonne grows to love the winter time. (for Richonne Just Desserts)


The days come to an early close – earlier every day, just a little colder every morning. It's an easy trick of nature to fall victim to – the sun setting early in the afternoon – but their work is never really done. So, it seems that much stranger that they have days on end now where they have nowhere they need to be. Not really; just with each other, here, in the house they call home with the people they call family. And for now, home is warmer than the crisp winter settling into the atmosphere.

There's a great view from their bedroom window, one he catches her looking at frequently; her hands gripping the window sill as the sunset played itself out on her skin. The light disappears quickly behind the treelines, filling the room with hues of oranges, then purples and pinks. When the sun finally leaves them, a deep blue takes everything over.

Today, she gets to watch the array of colours on the ceiling from their bed, buried in blankets and a lazy entanglement of limbs. This is good. Better than good.

Michonne was never a fan of winter, but then again, she had never really experienced it this way. Now, she holds a special reverence for the frost on the grass in the morning; the sun greeting them too late; the day ending what seemed like eight hours too early. Time didn't mean much anymore – no, it means a lot more. Their time together has been a journey. Their time right now is not wasted.

Carl and Judith are counting the days until they get to see the first snowfall. And Carl tells Judith about snowmen and snow angels, and promises her Christmas gifts – she beams. They both make Rick and Michonne promise to get them a Christmas tree – Rick had been planning on it already.

Michonne disentangles herself reluctantly, aching with the loss of warmth, the loss of touch. She ties her hair up with not much dedication and steals one of his sweaters when she feels how cold it is out of bed. Leaving a kiss on his cheek, she quietly shuffles downstairs.

She always felt like the fireplace they had was an old relic, but she liked it. It felt sort of rustic to her. She lights it and prods the charred wood just to watch it crumble and disappear into the flames. There were days she had spent out in the woods – alone, not alone – lighting fires not much different than this, but that was then, and this is now. And now, here – it's warm, it's nice. She brings her fingers up to the fire and relishes the feeling. They're allowed this now.

She's grown to love the winter.

She brings some water to the boil in a cast iron teapot she secreted away on a run for no other reason than the fact that she liked it. In two separate mugs – Alexandria-issued – she throws in some loose tea and pinches a few leaves of spearmint that she spotted growing in their garden – which she harvested in glass jars on their counter – and throws them in, too.

A wave of cold rushes over her suddenly and she shudders. And then she nearly jumps when she feels hands on her waist, wrapping around her and holding her tight. His lips delicately brush the space behind her ear.

"Hey," his voice is rough and gravelly from the nap they'd shared to escape the cold in each other's contact. It has that certain quality that makes her laugh and shake all at once.

She turns within his hold to look at him, red-faced with sleep and warmth. He's thrown on another one of his sweaters; a navy turtleneck. His hair is a mess atop his head. And all of these things together – well, she always did find him completely irresistible. Smiling at him, he responds with a slow blink, and she cards her fingers through his hair before cupping his face in her hands. Their lips meet gently, and he is just so _warm._

"Hello," she says against him. His hands move down to her hips, his fingers skirting the edge of her – his – sweater. When she feels them on her bare skin, she makes to gasp but instead hums into his mouth at the surprising heat of his palms.

The water boils.

They end up sitting together on the couch – Michonne, between his legs, her back to him – and they watch the flames dance in the fireplace. Their legs entwined together, each sporting mismatched fluffy socks. Both her hands are wrapped tight around her mug while he balances his own on the arm stand with one hand; the other stroking light circles on her shoulder or moves up and down the curve of her neck. He takes the tie out of her hair just to watch her hair fall smoothly down her back.

She twists her neck to look at him then, nestled behind her, and he just smiles at her. He thinks that perhaps he could not feel more content and _in love_ and happy than he does right now when he knows that tomorrow he could say the same thing. She cranes her neck to kiss his jaw.

Soon enough, Judith and Carl come home. Rick makes hot chocolate for all of them. They cram themselves all onto the sofa, laughing with each other, talking about how their day went, before Judith soon gives in to the warmth and falls asleep. Carl asks about Christmas again and his parents are teasingly mum about the whole thing. Michonne looks across to Rick and finds that he's already looking at her, smiling. This is good. Better than good. Indescribably so.

She smiles back.


End file.
